marți, 21 iunie 2011

Fantasy of graves

The bitter moon hid her pale
Eyes of blue behind the haze
In which the clouds mourn.

Roses torn
apart, flickering like dying lights in sepulchres
into the sullen Earth.
The crawl of clouds descending in rain
Tell the woe of the damned - a cry of pain.

The desperate howls you hear
Are nothing but your mask of lies!
You're hanging on the edge of sanity
As you can feel schizophrenia 
Dragging you across thy grave!

Yet... your corpse `as not rotten
And you still caught a glimpse
Of horrid light!
Behind those eyes
You hide nothing but lies!

Enslaved to the grave
Chained in the cold ground,
Rott! Die! Burn!
The coil of venom should burn through your soul!

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